Santa Claus
by Kit
Summary: Just a little early Christmas gift from me to all the fellow C & M fans...


Santa Claus  
Disclaimer- The characters Chandler and Monica do not belong to me….this is not intended for profits, but purely for entertainment.   
  
Author's note- Hi! This is just a little fic dedicated to all C & M fans out there. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Feedbacks and suggestions are very much appreciated! Hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year!   
  
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Editorials  
  
To all my readers,   
  
After returning from a two-week vacation, it is nice get back to a big pile of greeting cards and letters from you. Now I know that there are people who read my column and whether you agree with my views or not, at least I know you give a damn about what I have to say. So, without any further ado, I want to thank you very much for saving my career!  
  
Let's face it, we've just survived the most chaotic holidays of the year and are now forced to deal with the reality of post-holiday-bill-paying-and-weight-gaining-depression syndrome, I am sure that none of you are in the mood to read about my opinions concerning the government or the election mystery (although you'd think they would learn after the first time around). Therefore, there will be no rants about politics, social justices, abortions and other depressing issues in my column today.  
  
As you all know, I just got back from the holidays with my crazy family in New York and the experience itself was a 180-degree change from my relatively peaceful single life here. Things did not change one bit back home. After fifteen years, my brother and I still fought about who gave out the best presents and as usual, my little sister took his side. Despite of all the sarcastic remarks and banters, my parents would somehow tune out the insanity around them, wrap their arms around each other and dance to Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight". Then, as if taken a cue, we would all simultaneously quiet down and watch them lost in their own little universe.  
  
It was a moment when nothing else mattered to them but each other.   
  
It was a moment when nothing else mattered to us but them.   
  
It was a moment when the next wouldn't matter.  
  
Sometimes I wonder how did they do it. Twenty-seven years of marriage and three kids later, they are more in love than ever. It was amazing to see the love sparkling in their eyes every time they look at each other. It truly made me feel blessed to be one of their kids.   
  
The first Christmas Eve I remember was also the first time I discovered the possibility of Santa Claus not being real. It would have been a traumatic experience if I didn't find out the way that I did.   
  
The memory is still imprinted in my mind as if it happened yesterday.   
  
I could feel my stomach growled into the stillness of the night as I tossed and turned in my bed. Eventually, my hunger got the best of me and I started to think about the cookies and milk that were downstairs, waiting for the arrival of Santa…oh, if I could just take one cookie. Santa would never know.   
  
Careful not to wake anybody up, I crawled out of bed and tiptoed toward the door. When I opened the door, I was surprised to find my older brother, who already stationed himself at the top of the stairway, staring intently down at the living room below for some mysterious reason.   
  
"Matt! What are you doing?" I remember hissing at him.   
  
"Shhhh! Come and look at this." He whispered as he beckoned me to join him.  
  
I crept up beside him, held on to the staircases in front of me with both of my hands and looked down. Instantaneously, I gasped at the sight presented to me.   
  
There he was! The jolly old man dressed in red was actually in the living room of our house! However, as soon as the excitement leveled down, I realized that he wasn't holding a bag full of gifts in his hands. Instead, he was holding…my mom.   
  
I held my breath as I watched Santa and my mom swayed gently in the silent living room as if they were dancing to music that could only be heard by them. They held onto each other's body tightly; she placed her head on his chest while his bearded chin rested upon the top of her head. Both of their eyes were closed contently.   
  
A thousand thoughts flooded through my mind as I continued to look at the scene before me in wonder. Why is mommy dancing with Santa? What about daddy? Are there any cookies left?   
  
I looked at my brother, demanding for an immediate answer with my inquiring eyes. Knowingly, Matt just smiled at me and nodded his head in the direction of the living room. He signaled me to keep looking. Obediently, I turned my attention back to my mom and Santa.   
  
They were still immersed in each other's arms until mom broke the silence with a satisfactory sigh. Still in a warm and fuzzy trance, she slowly opened her eyes and stares into Santa's eyes and smiled. Until this day, I've never seen more love and happiness in any woman's eyes than those of my mother's at that instant.   
  
Then, she raised herself a little higher by standing on her toes and whispered something into his ear. Although her voice was almost inaudible, but I could still hear exactly what she said to him in the early hours of that Christmas morning.   
  
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Claus." She murmured before playing with Santa's white beard.   
  
"Merry Christmas to you too, Mrs. Bing." He replied softly as he hugged her waist tighter.   
  
At the sound of his voice, I squinted my eyes to look at Santa more closely. I knew that voice. I've heard it somewhere before. Hunger completely escaped my mind as I tried in vain to figure out who was the owner of that familiar voice while watching the oblivious twosome.   
  
As mom put her head back onto his chest, they began to sway to their imaginary song once more. Silence filled the house again as Santa tenderly ran his fingers down her hair.  
  
"I love you so much, Monica." He declared, his voice full of passion.   
  
"And I love you." Eyes still closed, Mom responded with certainty, the emotions in her voice equated his.   
  
A moment later, she smiled playfully at Santa as she pulled his beard down and kissed him softly on the lips.   
  
Eyes wide opened, I turn to Matt again in a "Mommy-is-kissing-Santa-Claus!" way only to see him smirking gleefully at the sight below us.   
  
All of a sudden, it all dawned on me. That was not Santa Claus. That was my dad!   
  
After the initial shock and wonderment, I couldn't help but smile goofily at my parents, who were holding onto each other appreciatively as they danced in silence.   
  
Matt and I stayed hidden at the top of the stairway until the early crack of dawn.   
  
From then on, it became a tradition for us to spy on our parents at that exact spot every Christmas Eve. At first it was just the two of us, then our little sister, Bryn, joined the club.   
  
Every year, all three of us would lined up along the stairs to watch dad, dressed up as Santa Claus, danced with mom to their imaginary song after putting all our presents in our stockings.  
  
As years went by, even though we all grew up and dad dropped the whole Santa act, he never broke the tradition of dancing with mom on Christmas Eve when they were alone, well, at least they thought they were alone; nor did we ever ceased to watch them with admiration as they were utterly absorbed in each other's presence in oblivion.  
  
It was a moment when nothing else mattered to them but each other.   
  
It was a moment when nothing else mattered to us but them.   
  
It was a moment when the next didn't matter…   
  
Because in the next moment, they were still in love with each other.   
  
So what if Santa Claus isn't real. At least we know that love isn't just some explosive bomb that is randomly dropped on us while same cheesy romantic music blares dramatically in the background.   
  
Love grows. It is candid, natural and real.   
  
In a world full of lies and betrayals where everything changes completely in a matter of seconds, it is nice to have something real to hold on to. Don't you think?   
  
Josephine Gellar Bing   
Associated Press Writer   



End file.
